Tuesday, November 18, 2008

It and I

It is a three year old pissing in fear after getting smacked for the first time. It is a confused six year old trying to make sense of a weaving drunken father. It is a defiant eleven year old venting the frustration of a lost parent on an oil drum in the backyard. It is a spoiled fourteen year old lighting his first cigarette. It is a lying eighteen year old stealing money from his parents. It is a smart twenty one year old paying lip service at his first job.

It is a boor with no appreciation for the finer things in life, which it scoffs at by labeling “baubles” for the “spoiled brats” or “veneer” for the “evil”. It hides its fear of being outcast by subtly rubbing everyone’s nose in the dust. It smirks at the failures of others as a justification for its own inadequacies. It shrinks at the thought of an acknowledgment while craving for appreciation. It manipulates and convinces. It charms and it outfoxes. It lives in fear and hates being a coward. It covets. It craves. It holds nothing sacred. It is proud of being emotionless. It completely buys its own illusion of invincibility.

It is a parasite that feeds off a host and gives nothing in return.

It is a machine. A supremely efficient machine, whose only job is to survive. It is a shrewd and calculating machine, which sees everything as prey or competition. It must either consume off the entities that compose its’ environment or destroy them and eliminate their claim on its’ resources. It feels no love. It has no friends. It survives.

I created it. It was my first authentic creation. What a creator am I, that I created this most exquisite piece of machinery that is both self sustaining and life preserving. And so what if I forgot that I created it. And so what if as a result of my forgetting, I spent some time believing that I was trapped by my machinery.

I am free now, in this moment. I acknowledge my power to create. As evidence, if needed, I count my machinery, my IT.